The rain was falling to the ground,
soft at first, then heav,
but to her, every drop felt like it was landing
directly on her already bruised heart.
She kept thinking her tears were faster,
that her grief fell more urgently than the sky's sadness...
but the rain always won.
It struck the earth with a rhythm
her chest could no longer keep up with.
And yet
in the middle of the storm,
in the quiet ache she carried,
there was something she never realized:
Her lips held a smile.
A small, trembling smile
she didn't even know she was wearing.
Not because she was happy,
nor because she had healed,
but because pain does that sometimes ,
it bends people into strange shapes,
forces a smile onto a face
that forgot what joy feels like,
a smile born not from happiness
but from exhaustion, survival,
and a heart that refuses
to stop shining even when shattered.
The rain fell.
Her tears followed.
But her smile…
that was the part of her
still fighting to live.